A Toast
by murderofonerose
Summary: Includes two cons, three different kinds of alcohol, Ford in a sink, and one very simple answer. Oh, and lots of fooling around. Ford/Arthur


**Warning: **Contains slash.

**Authors:** Pirate Hatter and murderofonerose

**Pairing:** Ford/Arthur

**Words:** 7865

**Disclaimer:** We are not Douglas Adams, either separately or collectively.

* * *

**A Toast To Your Arse**

* * *

"Can I sample this?" Ford asked and pointed to the bottle the waiter held.

"Of course sir." He raised the bottle to pour into Ford's glass, and so was unprepared for Ford taking the entire bottle and chugging a good quarter of it before giving it back.

"Eh, it's okay," Ford gurgled before belching loudly.

The waiter poured Arthur a glass. He tasted it and was gripped by a hacking cough, the back of his throat feeling very much as though it was being swarmed over by angry fire ants. He turned to Ford and croaked, "What _is_ your throat made of, exactly?"

"…Rubber?" Ford thought deeply for a moment and then shrugged it off. "Whatever." He raised his glass. "I would like to propose a toast."

"To what," Arthur asked, "rot-gut moonshine?"

"Don't be so cynical, Arthur. No, I'd like to make a toast to you—"

"Oh Ford that's very ni—"

"—r arse. It's very nice."

"What?" Arthur asked, blushing furiously and sure he'd misheard.

"Your arse, silly man. It's very firm and cute and round and soft…"

"Not so loud," Arthur hissed. "You can't talk about my a— my bottom like that in a public place!" He remembered something the Dish of the Day had said, long ago when they had ended up in Milliway's by random chance. "Only your own is yours to talk about wherever you please," he added.

"Well, in that case." Ford smiled dangerously and stood up. "Excuse me, everyone, I'd like to make an official announcement!"

"Ohgodpleasedon't," Arthur gasped, grabbing him about the middle and trying to haul him down before too many people could hear.

Ford struggled to get up and somehow managed to hold Arthur off at arm's length.

"I would just like to say that this gentleman right here…"

"Thinks you have a very nice bottom as well, now please sit down!"

Arthur looked around at the various different species watching them now and went, if possible, an even deeper shade of red. He hadn't meant to say that so loudly.

"I officially own this man's arse, and am therefore qualified to speak freely about it. Thank you." Ford sat down, pulling Arthur into his lap as he did so.

Arthur gave up and pressed his face against Ford's shoulder.

"My mortification is now complete," he mumbled. "If someone could please shoot me now, or direct me to the nearest hole in the floor that I could conveniently fall into and disappear, that would be fantastic…"

"Well if you're fully embarrassed, you won't mind me doing this." Ford smiled and kissed Arthur right in the middle of the restaurant.

* * *

_The word restaurant, says the _Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy_, like many words that have wormed their way into that fickle thing known as racial memory, has a second and not very well known meaning. It can, and more often than not is, used to mean a business establishment in which people are presented with food, consume said food, and then argue over the bill. (See also: 'Cures for common food poisonings', 'Bistromathics', and 'How to most easily start an intergalactic war'.) _

_It can also mean a peculiar body part from which most species have moved on, in the evolutionary sense, except most notably the Fizzywooks of Mandrala 9, who use their straw-like restaurants to blow bubbles in their drinks. Many other beings see this as archaic and quite rude, which is why no Fizzywook has ever been invited to a fancy dinner party. _

_Unbeknownst to the Universe at large, there is one other species naturally possessing restaurants, though not even they are aware of this. Their restaurants are small, vestigial, and blend in so well with the surrounding environment that they are the nearest nature has ever come to invisible. Often, because these are so incredibly useless, they shrivel up and slough off, often to be mistaken for a dead moth in the shower drain. _

_Arthur Dent's restaurant was removed by accident and quite without his knowledge due to an unlikely incident with a pancake and an entire bottle of golden syrup when he was a small boy. (See also: 'Sentient foods', 'Bored food toppings', and the sexual habits thereof.) What Ford Prefect is kissing, therefore, is actually Arthur's mouth. _

* * *

Arthur was so startled that he put his elbow right in Ford's dinner, but very quickly forgot to care as Ford did that thing with his tongue that he liked so much. A mishmash of cheers and catcalls went up through the restaurant, accompanied by the giggles of small alien children and the appreciative looks of the young adults (all of whom were mentally taking notes and trying to look suitably aloof at the same time), as Arthur wrapped his arms tightly around Ford and dripped blue-green sauce down the back of his jacket.

Ford kissed Arthur possessively for a few more moments before pulling back and smiling at him.

"You taste nice. Like fine wine."

"And you taste like tea," Arthur replied once he'd managed to catch his breath. "I guess it's a good thing we both have wild imaginations."

"Quite so…" Ford noticed an elbow shaped dent (but not an Arthur-shaped Dent, which had happened only once on one very memorable occasion) in his food "Did you elbow my food?"

"Did you announce things about my body to anyone and everyone within ear shot?" Arthur shot back. There wasn't much force behind it, though, and he was grinning like a very happy fool.

"Did I mention that I suddenly don't care about my food?" Ford purred and rested his hands on Arthur's terrycloth covered rump.

"Yes, you did. Just now."

"Good. Hey, waiter." Ford snapped his fingers in the air a few times to signal the waiter. "Can we get this to go? Me and my friend are gonna go have s… I mean… watch a movie."

The waiter gave them a deadpan look, as if he heard that sort of thing all the time. It was so flawlessly practiced and polished that it was impossible to tell if he actually had or if he'd just been saving it up in the hopes that someday he would.

"Then perhaps, sir, I might suggest the hotel down the street. They have a low rate for renting movies for the night and have widescreen television sets."

"Oh that sounds nice. Do they have big beds there?"

"Yes, sir. King-size, I believe."

"That'll do just fine." Ford smiled at Arthur, "I think we'll go now. Meal's free if we don't make a mess… if that sort of thing is accepted here. It would make a wonderful attraction when I submit my review for the _Guide_. You'll probably get a lot of good business."

Moments later Ford had finagled a ninety percent discount and Arthur found himself being ushered out of the restaurant with a proprietary hand settled firmly on his bum.

"Well that could've gone better. Remember last time? It was zarking free!" Ford snorted and pulled Arthur closer. "I think they're specieist or something. They don't like couples like us. Isn't that just sad?"

"Well," Arthur pointed out, "I _did_ drip some sauce on the tablecloth."

"How clumsy of you." Ford nuzzled his neck tenderly. "Let's go get a room, okay?"

They could have just gone back to the ship, but for one thing it was further away and for another Arthur was touched that he was willing to splurge on him.

"Okay."

Ford smiled and led him to the hotel, going over which story he'd tell the manager in order to get a free room.

"Okay, when we're inside, try and look ill or hurt or something. Hurt badly," Ford whispered into the Earthman's ear.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "All right. Can I borrow your towel?" he whispered back.

"Of course." Ford snatched it from his satchel and handed it to Arthur. They were quickly approaching the hotel now. It was extremely white and stood probably fifty stories tall. It looked damn classy.

Arthur tied the towel around his leg like a tourniquet. The sauce stain crusting on the arm of his dressing gown, he decided, could speak for itself, and pulled out his own towel and arranged it around his other arm to look like a makeshift sling.

At the beginning of their travels this sort of duplicity would have bothered him, but Ford had managed to convince him that since the galactic economy had collapsed it was practically expected and in some places it was even considered terribly rude if you didn't at least try.

Ford appreciated Arthur's cunning and was a little turned on by it – but that would come later, as would he. He snickered inwardly at his vague joke.

They entered the hotel dramatically, with Ford practically carrying the apparently near-dead Earthman. They hobbled up to the desk together, panic and worry written all over Ford's face.

"Miss, you have to help me! My friend has been badly injured." Oh this was good. His voice was shaking with faux-emotion. "And he really needs to lie down somewhere, just for the night. Do you have anything available?"

"Yes, we have a penthouse up on the forty-second floor. But it's rather… expensive."

"Please…" Ford began crying gently. "I can't lose him. Not like this."

Arthur nearly laughed, but covered it with a feeble moan. He felt Ford's hands tightened on him briefly, and had to struggle not to grin smugly. Ford would most likely get on his case later about breaking character, but he was probably turned on by it anyway.

"Well… it's rather… unorthodox…" The receptionist squirmed uncomfortably.

"Just for one night… and all access to the mini-fridge and bar."

"What?"

"What?"

"Sir, if this is some ploy—"

"How could you even _suggest_ such a horrible thing?" Ford's lip quivered. "My friend is hurt!"

Arthur threw in another moan, and let it trail off into a whine for good measure.

"Okay, okay!" she yelped and threw the key at Ford. "Just try not to make a mess?"

"Thank you, _thank_ you, you're a saint." Ford took the key in his mouth and carried Arthur off to the elevators. They were soon inside and on their way up.

Arthur waited until they were safely in the room (because one could never be sure about the security cameras in elevators – where they were needed they were faked, and where they would be inconvenient they were inevitably rolling) to stop pretending to be almost, but not quite, dead. He threw himself onto the bed, which was, as the waiter had promised, quite large, and let out the laughter he'd been holding in since the lobby.

"I almost slipped when you started crying," he informed Ford, giggling. "It was like I was married to you or something."

"Oh you wish you were married to me," Ford snorted and proceeded to raid the mini-bar. "You almost blew it, Arthur."

He jumped onto the bed with a bottle of something almost but not entirely unlike Wassail.

Arthur stared at him oddly for a moment, then said in a quiet voice, "You know, I actually do wish that."

Ford nearly choked to death on the Wassail, something that is almost impossible for a Betelgeusian since their larynx and esophagus are not very good friends and generally don't hang together. He looked at Arthur in shock, with some of the drink dribbling from his lip. Marriage was not a very common thing in the Galaxy anymore, because since the Economy had collapsed people needed things to do – each other.

"Um," Arthur said, looking away with an embarrassed cough, "sorry."

Ford handed the bottle to Arthur and got off the bed to walk to the bathroom. His mind was racing with thoughts of Arthur, marriage, even possibly getting that new fertility treatment so Arthur could have children. It was a lot to handle.

Arthur peered idly into the bottle, wondering how strong it was and deciding he didn't care. He took three big swigs of it, set it on the floor, and followed Ford into the bathroom.

Ford was taking off his blindingly clashing clothes and staring at himself in the mirror. Would he be a good husband if they got married? Well he couldn't support them financially, no. Perhaps he should get a steadier job than working for the _Guide_? Maybe some… spaceship dealership job. He had people skills, didn't he?

While Ford tried to work out the next fifteen years of their lives in his head, he got undressed down to his white undershirt that lay hidden under his pink and yellow button up. He didn't see Arthur approaching him from behind in the mirror, or if he did he gave no indication of it.

"Ford?" Arthur asked hesitantly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

Ford smiled to himself and looked at the sink, then back to Arthur. "Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong. I mean… this may have been the cold water I needed."

Arthur felt like he'd been hit in the stomach. It echoed in his head: _cold water, cold water, cold water. _He could only think of one thing that might mean, and that was that he'd really fucked up.

For years, back before Earth had been destroyed, they had been friends, but hardly close ones. In fact, for the first two years Arthur had known him he had barely been willing to consider Ford much more than an acquaintance. If anything was important to having a happy life, he had thought at the time, it was having a quiet one as well. Ford made life not quiet. And Arthur had grown used to that, but until he had, he'd thought of nothing so much as how to make Ford leave him alone, when in fact it seemed that the solution was very simple.

All it took was learning more about the eccentric man (that he was an alien, for one thing, and that he swung all sorts of ways for another), sleeping with him rather a lot, and falling in love with him.

"It's just… well… if we were to actually," Ford was fiddling with a wash cloth, the towel's younger brother, "get married, I'd have to actually… figure out my life. Get a steady job… find a home on a good planet… really just… settle down. And if you happen to oh I dunno, want a couple kids, then I'd have to make sure they were safe, healthy, happy…"

"It's all right, I understand," Arthur said hollowly. He collapsed onto the edge of the very luxurious bathtub and put his head in his hands. "I… I couldn't ask you to give up all the freedom you have now…"

He was almost, but not quite, able to keep himself from starting to cry as he said this. _Everything was going so well_, he thought miserably, _and then I had to throw a… a monkey wrench the size of _Belgium_ into the works. Great plan, Dent. You should try playing for your own side some day._

"Arthur…" Ford tilted his chin up to look him in the eye. He was smiling fondly at him. "If I have to trade my 'freedom', as you say, for a life with you, I'd do it in a hummingbird's heartbeat."

Arthur blinked up at him for a moment, then threw himself forward and kissed Ford with relief, with desperation, and with a general acceptance that he, Arthur Philip Dent, was both an idiot and a completely smitten one. They stumbled as one until Ford was pressed against the edge of the sink and Arthur was no longer consciously aware that it would be physically impossible to wedge his leg any more snugly between Ford's. All he knew was that his fingers were tangled in ginger curls and Ford's hands were holding fistfuls of his pajamas beneath the dressing gown and they needed to be closer, closer, always.

Ford was certainly surprised at the reaction, but not displeased in the slightest. He kissed Arthur back just as heatedly as he was being kissed. The sink was jutting into his lower back horribly painfully but he didn't mind too much… though eventually this little party would have to move over to the bed.

After a minute Arthur stopped pressing forward, dimly sensing a problem. Without surrendering Ford's lips, he pulled back a little bit, slid his hands down Ford's neck, over his shoulder blades, down his back, to his rear, which he cupped tenderly. Then he lifted Ford completely off the floor and deposited him (with some effort) actually in the sink.

This accomplished, he returned his attention to the task of very involved kissing.

Ford opened his eyes and looked down at the arrangement he now found himself in. His legs were somewhat forced outwards at a ninety degree angle and Arthur was in between them, kissing him rather nicely. Now the sink nozzle was jabbing him in the back.

Arthur ran his hands down the front of Ford's undershirt. When he absolutely had to stop kissing Ford in order to breathe, he let his head fall forward and felt Ford's lips pressing against his forehead.

"I love you," the Earthman sighed. His fingers curled under the edge of the white undershirt – it would have to go. He started to slide it up, and was puzzled when it stopped barely halfway.

The shirt stopped barely halfway because the sink Ford was sitting in made him bend in half. He pushed Arthur up from him slightly and nuzzled him. "Arthur, I love you too. But I'm thinking that this would be infinitely more comfortable on the bed."

"Oh, uh, right," Arthur replied, stepping back with a breathy laugh. "Bed, of course…"

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Could you?"

Arthur blinked. "Hmm?"

"…Help me get down?"

"Oh!"

"Silly Earthman…" Ford smiled and held out his arms for Arthur to pull and get him out of the sink. He was soon tugged free but the momentum from tugging sent him crashing into Arthur and, consequently, the wall.

"Bed?" Arthur panted. "Or… wall? Since we're here…"

"Bed. Still more comfortable," Ford groaned and pushed up from the wall.

Arthur grinned sheepishly. "Probably a good idea. The mind is willing, but at this rate my back is probably going to give out shortly after I hit fifty."

They tumbled back onto the bed, nearly sending the bottle of Wassail toppling over. Ford rescued it just before it spilled down the side of the bed and his leg, took a swig, and tilted it invitingly toward Arthur.

As Arthur drank the sweetly intoxicating beverage, Ford started to undress him slowly, pulling off his dressing gown and pushing up his shirt, revealing his soft tummy. Ford kissed the tummy lovingly.

Arthur laughed into the bottle as he hit a ticklish spot, then shot up in alarm as some of the liquid went down the wrong way. "Could you," he rasped when he'd finish coughing it back out, "please wait until after I swallow to do that again?"

"Nope," Ford informed him and took the bottle back. "Your tummy is too yummy." He then took a deep drink from the bottle, emptying it, and placed it on its side. The bottle spun on the duvet and pointed to Arthur.

"You've played Spin the Bottle before, yes?"

"Not since I was fourteen, and that was under coercion."

"How charming. But Arthur, you'll notice that I've spun the bottle and it's pointed to you." Ford pushed Arthur down on the bed and positioned over him. "Now, I seem to have forgotten what comes after that…"

"I don't recall you needing that much direction from the bottle in the restaurant," Arthur replied. He settled onto the (by now slightly rumpled) bedspread, squirming a little against Ford as he did so. "I do hope you're not losing your touch," he teased.

"Losing my touch?" Ford leaned down and brushed his nose against Arthur's, while his hand worked its way up under his shirt. "Is that a challenge?"

"Only if you feel you're up to it."

Ford smiled and kissed Arthur softly. "Oh, I think I can manage."

Arthur moaned in agreement as Ford's hips rolled slowly against his. He let himself be pulled up a little and raised his arms obediently so Ford could tug the pajama top off over his head.

As Ford undressed Arthur, he couldn't help but think about the future, or, more specifically, settling down with Arthur. He wasn't sure why he liked the idea so much all of the sudden, but it did seem rather appealing.

"You're perfect, Arthur," Ford breathed against his lips and ran his hands over his stomach.

"Glad you—" he made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a giggle "—think so."

Ford sat up and removed his shirt and pants, leaving nothing between as he carefully laid back down on top of Arthur. He was struck, as he did so, by the strangeness of the thought that he could very well continue doing this sort of thing with Arthur, and Arthur alone, for the rest of his life. What a very odd idea.

Arthur picked up on the oddness, and gave him a puzzled look. "What?" he asked.

"What?"

"Why are you suddenly treating me like I'm made of glass?"

"Am I? Maybe it's because I value you so much." Ford blinked slowly, another oddity.

"Oh." Arthur blushed.

"Because," added Ford, just in case it wasn't clear, "I love you." He smiled and kissed Arthur's neck.

Arthur closed his eyes as he felt teeth graze over his skin, pressing just hard enough to leave a slight mark.

"Ford," he said carefully (but not carefully enough because it came out more like "Fo-ooo-ord" as a tongue licked sensuously at a particularly deep mark), "would… would you mind repeating…"

"I said I love you." Ford continued to nip a trail down Arthur's neck and to his collar bone. When he got to his chest, he started to kiss the muscle hotly, trying to distract him enough that he wouldn't make him explain what that had to do with this sudden surge of protectiveness. He was a little embarrassed that it had slipped out like that and didn't want to spoil the moment with another round of awkwardness.

"Nnngg," Arthur said as Ford's lips and tongue continued to travel downwards. "Why does th-that…" His brain was desperately trying to hold onto this line of questioning, but other bits of him were running interference and making it very hard to keep track of.

Ford sighed and wrapped his hand around Arthur's cock. At least this would distract him while he admitted to his rather un-cool lapse into stating the obvious.

"It was just that… well you know, it doesn't matter. I love you." Ford kissed his chest again. Arthur's brain gave up the fight, decided that was good enough, and promptly melted into a puddle of goo. Left to their own devices – as if they don't already have a mind of their own anyway – Arthur's hips jerked wildly into Ford's touch. "You're adorable when you're aroused." Ford kissed him on the forehead and left the bed for a second to get his satchel.

Arthur whined at the sudden lack of contact. If his mouth had decided to work, he would have protested. He would have also pointed out that he couldn't possibly be adorable all the time he was around Ford, because double-tasking took so much effort. He whined again.

"Calm down, I'm just getting lubricant." Ford found the small bottle and joined Arthur back on the bed. He straddled his thighs and rubbed his thumb across Arthur's cheek. "I wouldn't abandon you."

Arthur smiled up at him. "Propose?" he mumbled vaguely.

"I think I'll wait until you least expect it." Ford snickered and let his hand drift down over Arthur's chest, across his side, and to his rather cute arse. Arthur sighed in pleasurable disappointment as Ford's fingers traced down the valley at the base of his spine.

Ford squeezed out a bit of goop from the bottle and waited for it to warm up on his fingers. Then he gently and slowly pressed one into Arthur.

Arthur squirmed. He sighed. He moaned. He was generally reduced to a pile of verbs, without much to connect them but a few pronouns and bits of punctuation, and Ford's fingers rubbing against him.

Ford removed his hand from Arthur's bottom and stroked his cock in time with his moving fingers. "I love you a whole lot, Arthur," Ford sighed happily and kissed his throat.

"Ford," groaned Arthur, reaching blindly to pull him closer.

"Mhm." Ford's fingers pressed into Arthur's sweet spot as they worked him loose. "I know, I know…"

Suddenly, and with startling clarity, Arthur realized he was going to come very, very soon. This was not a terribly bad thing, but he felt very strongly that he wanted Ford to share it with him. As such, stall tactics would be required. Immediately.

He reached between them and brushed his thumb over the pre-come dampened head of Ford's penis.

Ford moaned breathlessly and removed his hands from Arthur. He grabbed the bottle and poured the majority of its contents into his hand, before coating himself thoroughly. Unable to wait any longer, he pressed himself into Arthur achingly slowly, moaning again and biting his lip.

Arthur lifted his head and kissed the abused lip, his eyes fluttering closed as he felt Ford's full length settle into him – a strange and curiously full feeling that was really only enjoyable because of its association with the sensations that would come next.

Ford's shoulders shook as he tried to retain focus. Arthur was so zarking tight around him, and so warm too. But, he decided, rather than just basking in the wonderfulness that was Arthur, he should really get on with the fucking. His first thrust was awkwardly slow, but he adjusted and started a steadier rhythm – one that was harder and harder to keep as Arthur arched and rolled his own hips more and more frantically, pressing his face hotly against the crook of Ford's neck.

"Nnn…" Ford groaned and kissed Arthur hotly, pushing with his tongue and rolling it in Arthur's mouth. It was a bit difficult to keep up all of this when Arthur was just so utterly perfect. Arthur responded as if he was thinking the exact same thing, which he more or less was, and gasped into Ford's mouth as he exploded onto his stomach.

Half a second later Ford's own explosion was brought on by the rapid contractions around his cock. He groaned loudly and shuddered on top of Arthur.

Arthur wrapped his arms around him and blinked up at him satedly.

"I've said this already," he murmured, "but I love you." He kissed Ford's nose, which Ford tried to watch and ended up getting his eyes crossed. Arthur grinned affectionately and kissed him on the mouth.

Ford kissed Arthur back, happily high on his after-glow and ran a hand through the Earthman's hair.

"And I've said this already," Ford sighed and nuzzled his cheek, "but you have a very nice bum."

"I was wondering when you'd get back around to talking about my bum."

"And I love you, too," Ford laughed and sat up. "Now what happened to that Jassail?"

"Um… I think you drank the last of it." Arthur glanced over at the empty bottle, which was still pointing at him, watching them innocently. "There's probably more in the mini fridge…" He trailed off, not particularly wanting Ford to get up. Ever.

"Mhm…" Ford glanced to the fridge, wondering if he could somehow coax a bottle out using his mind. He perched himself on the edge of the bed and stared intensely at the fridge. _Open…open… get me a bottle of Jassail…_

Arthur snorted and cuddled against Ford, hardly thinking that just staring at the fridge would cause anything to happen. After a while, Ford gave up and laid down next to Arthur, disappointed slightly that his efforts were not rewarded.

"You know, the people from Chinidine Alpha can make fridges open and give them drinks."

"How nice for them." Arthur rolled and lazily brushed over onto his side and lazily brushed some ginger curls out of Ford's face.

"I wish I could do it," Ford sighed wistfully and kissed Arthur's nose. His hand ran over Arthur's arm and down to his tummy, rubbing it gently.

"Mmm," replied Arthur, who had no strong opinions about this one way or the other. He did quite like the feeling of having his belly rubbed, and said so.

"I like your tummy," Ford admitted with a small shrug. "It's soft and nice."

Arthur glanced sleepily down Ford's body. "Yours is nice too… but it's a little sticky."

Ford glanced down and smiled. "Yes it is rather… messy. Wonder why. _Arthur_."

Arthur grinned. The expression wavered, however, as he recalled what Ford had said earlier.

"Did… Did you really mean it?" he asked. "That you'd actually settle down with me?"

Ford looked at him shiftily.

"If you wanted to. It's… kind of a nice idea, when you think about it," he added, surprising himself. "I can think of a few nice places we could live. Hell, I even know what color _curtains_ I want."

"But… But you haven't even proposed yet," Arthur said, utterly flabbergasted by Ford's sudden willingness to start planning things so far ahead. He was the sort of person whose usual form of planning ran in a more where's-the-closest-drink direction. Ford didn't understand his change in pace either, but he knew the more he thought about spending the rest of his life with Arthur, the more and more of it he planned out.

"I know. But when I do… I want to make sure I have a plan. I can be structured when I want to." He frowned at Arthur's snort of amusement. "I can!"

"Then stop going out of order," Arthur admonished lightly. "I'm a traditionalist. Humor me."

"Oh alright. Spoil sport…"

Arthur beamed. He was beginning to feel absurdly like a little boy on Christmas morning – except for the minor details that he was not a little boy, he was naked, and his equally naked and still quite sticky alien male lover was about to propose to him in a hotel room they had scammed their way into for free on a planet that he couldn't quite recall the name of.

Oh well, it was perfectly fitting somehow. He didn't even mind that Ford probably didn't have an engagement ring for him, or vice versa.

Ford beamed back and kissed Arthur. He knew Arthur was expecting him to propose any minute now, but he decided to wait. He wanted to make sure it was perfectly wonderful and something Arthur would remember for the rest of his life. Lying on the bed naked with him after sex was nice, but simply not special enough.

He sat up, pulling Arthur with him. "Come on, I think I saw something not entirely unlike champagne in the fridge. That's what you humans drink when you're celebrating something, right?"

"Right," Arthur agreed readily.

Ford smiled and decided that he would actually have to get off the bed to get the champagne-like drink. He did so with a grunt and soon found the bottle inside the alarmingly deep mini-fridge. On the way back to the bed he picked up two conveniently located champagne glasses.

Arthur watched as he poured. The not-champagne fizzed to a slight head and glowed an attractive teal when held up to the light. Ford held one of the glass flutes out to him, and he reached to take it, hoping it would taste a little more like champagne than it looked.

Ford sipped his drink, humming with appreciation. It was exactly like champagne and fizzed just the same.

"Like it?"

Arthur sipped cautiously, and found that he did. "Yes… What is it?" he asked, forgetting in the wonder of the moment that ignorance was usually bliss.

"Fermented secretions of an Acturan Mega-Aardvark," Ford replied cheerfully. "Aged to perfection."

Arthur nearly choked on a sip. "It's _what_?"

"It's perfectly harmless and tastes wonderful." Ford smiled brightly and took Arthur's hand in his. He set down his glass on the floor beside the bed and looked seriously into Arthur's eyes.

A warm feeling started to spread through Arthur's stomach, even as his eyes began to water from staring expectantly back.

"Arthur… would you do me the honor…" Ford began

"Yes?" Hope (and possibly tears) shimmered in Arthur's eyes.

"Of pouring me some more champagne?"

"I—" Arthur blinked. "What?"

"All out" Ford smiled and tipped his glass over with a foot. Not a single drop dripped out.

"Is that really necessary?" Arthur asked, but reached for the bottle anyway.

"I'm thirsty." Ford held out his glass. "Why? Did you— oh… oh haha." He laughed slightly. "Did you think I was going to propose? Naked?"

"Well, you're the last person I would have expected to not do so just because you were indecent. On second thought, no," Arthur amended as he poured the champagne, "_Zaphod_ is probably the last. But you're a close second."

"I'm always zarking second to that mook…" Ford grumbled to himself and took his glass back.

Arthur gave him a look, a little fazed by the abruptness of this. "Would you really want Zaphod proposing to me naked to be more likely than you doing it?"

"No… but… I've always been compared to Zaphod. For everything. It's kind of annoying after a bit." The second-to-Zaphod Betelgeusian sighed and drank his champagne.

"Yes, well. You're better in bed."

Ford coughed and looked up with a jealous glint in his eyes. "I hope you're not speaking from experience."

"What? No." Arthur shuddered. "No. I just think that… well, that Zaphod's not nearly so great as everyone seems to go on about. You're much more… well…" He waved a hand vaguely and brought his champagne flute up to his lips. "You know. Everything."

"Nice of you. But as far as everything else goes, it seemed to my mothers and father that Zaphod could do no wrong. In fact, he was appointed for the job of Galactic President by the President before him, who was a close personal friend, blah blah blah. Anyway, enough about him."

"Fair enough," Arthur agreed, wondering if maybe Ford was going to propose _now_.

Arthur continued to be wrong. Ford could sense when Arthur was expecting his proposal and was determined to wait until he didn't suspect it at all.

"So, have anything in mind? That we could do?"

Arthur groaned. "You're hopeless," he complained, then downed the rest of his drink and suggested, "We could take a shower. Or a bath."

"I could use a bath." Ford jumped off the bed without spilling a drop of his champagne. "Coming, Arthur?"

"Of course," Arthur muttered. He sat his empty glass on the bedside table and followed Ford, a little stiffly, back into the bathroom.

"Something wrong?" Ford wrapped an arm around Arthur's shoulders and smiled brightly.

Arthur blushed.

"Fine, fine. Just a little sore…"

"Poor Arthur," Ford murmured, and ushered him into the bathroom. "Lemme take care of you."

Soon the bathroom was filled with the sounds of running water and Arthur's laughter, mostly due to the fact that Ford was tickling him.

"Now my – sides are going – to hurt," he gasped between fits of giggles, and tried to escape by crawling into the half-filled tub. Ford just grinned in a rather predatory way and leapt in after him, drenching Arthur with the splash and flooding a great deal of the bathroom as well.

Ford landed painfully in the oversized bathtub. It was more of a swimming pool than a bathtub, really. Very huge. "Ow! I landed right on my coccyx, ow ow ow…" He rubbed his arse tenderly and winced.

"Serves you right," Arthur sputtered, and splashed him back.

Ford pouted and returned the favor. "Aren't you being rather childish?"

Arthur slid over to him in the rapidly filling tub and leaned an arm on either side of him, more or less trapping him. "_You_ started it."

"Oh did I now?" challenged Ford, lifting an eyebrow. He would not be intimidated by the man he regularly fucked into whatever mattress they were on at the time.

With an air of attitude that he didn't usually have, Arthur leaned in and gave Ford a quick but fierce kiss. "You made fun of me at the restaurant—" another kiss "—then gave me the scare of my life – which, I'm sure you know, is saying something—" then another "—and that trick with the champagne… that was just mean. So—" and another "—I don't have any qualms in saying that yes, yes you did."

Ford enjoyed this weird domination thing Arthur was carrying on and he definitely enjoyed the kisses. He only hoped he continued along this vein.

"Well," he managed to say between the erratic kisses, "I think—" Another kiss. "You… are taking this… a bit seriously."

The water crept up to Ford's chin and, with the way he was crouched, Arthur's chest, when the tub faucet shut off automatically.

"Share and enjoy," it told them brightly.

They ignored it.

Ford sank into the bath and stayed under for a while, looking up from underneath the warm, soothing water. His hair bloomed out from his head and swayed with the slight rippling of the water. He looked rather strange.

Arthur thought for a moment that he looked like an underwater angel, then blushed and slipped his hands under the water to pull him back up. "Hey, I was talking to you."

"Oh, I thought you were done." Ford blinked some water out of his eyes and smiled. His normally bright gingery hair was now a brownish colour and pasted down to his head, rather than fluffy and wild. "Carry on."

Arthur put an arm around him so he wouldn't slip off again and settled onto his lap, evidently quite pleased with himself. "Good. Now…"

Ford, being extremely easily distracted, had much trouble listening to Arthur go on and on about… something. He would much rather be swimming in this enormous bathtub or kissing Arthur again or even doing some research for the _Guide_. That being said, he was still rather content with being under Arthur in this manner.

"Maybe we could switch off," Arthur suggested, tracing the paths of water drops rolling down Ford's skin.

"Are you suggesting that you want to do me in this ridiculously large bathtub?" Ford slowly started to grin to his very creepy natural smile. He'd had to train himself to tone the smile down to what humans were willing to accept as 'normal' and 'not creepy beyond all reason' in order to avoid being arrested too often on Earth, but was starting to get out of that habit again..

A spasm of terror passed over Arthur's face, but he quashed it admirably. "Yes."

"Well now, that's quite a situation," Ford ran his hands over Arthur's somewhat fuzzy and submerged thighs.

Arthur drew a long, lazy line down Ford's chest and stomach, just as intently. Any observing bystanders who were lecherous enough not to avert their eyes and detached enough to not leer might have easily mistaken them for poker players.

"It is," he replied.

Ford's grin disappeared to a look of quiet observation that was vaguely smug in some odd way. His hand slid up Arthur's thigh to his hip and his thumb dragged along the line of the slightly jutting bone.

"I'd be very interested in seeing this being carried out," he replied, equally calm.

"Good. Oh, and Ford?"

"Hm?"

"Remember in the restaurant when I said that you have a very nice bottom as well?" Arthur paused for effect. He didn't quite know what had brought this on either, but wasn't about to let that stop him. "I intend to earn the right to have made that statement." This declaration made, he leaned forward and traced his fingers around Ford's balls, brushing lightly at the area just behind them.

Ford's breath caught in his throat at the contact. Not many people had handled him this way before, and hardly any humans. His head fell back against the side of the tub and he moaned weakly. Something about Arthur just made him lose his breath when this kind of sensitivity was involved. Another stroke of his fingers, the heel of his hand brushing against Ford's hardening erection, knuckles pressing lightly against his inner thigh – these tiny things were sending all Ford's blood southbound with almost alarming speed.

Arthur's mouth captured his. There was no other way to describe it. Suddenly it was as if the normally buttoned-down Earthman, who was still wont to blush if Ford said words like "penis" or "fuck", had snapped. Maybe it was the tickling that had done it. Arthur kissed him as if he had something to prove, as if every even remotely dirty thought he'd ever had about Ford was behind each flick of the tongue, each twitch of the lips, each nip of the teeth. Ford fell completely victim to the lips and hands, completely at a loss for what to do or say (if only he could).

He moaned quietly into Arthur's mouth and wrapped one arm around his neck, the other one still on Arthur's hip. His own hips wiggled against Arthur's palm, wanting more of this strange, uncharacteristic boldness.

_Boldness?_ Arthur's hand seemed to say. _I'll show you boldness. _The tip of one finger reached a little further back and pressed suggestively. The Betelgeusian jerked and whined loudly beneath him. His mind was off in another corner of the bath, swimming happily and totally detached.

Arthur backed off suddenly, staring heatedly down at Ford and rearranging himself subtly. He concentrated on slowing his breathing, then took a deep breath and lowered his head.

His vision underwater was surprisingly clear. With warm water pressing in on him everywhere, he let his lips drag over Ford's even warmer skin.

Elsewhere, his finger slipped slowly inside, and _curled_.

Ford's nether regions tightened and sent bursts of pleasure all over his body. Arthur's lips were soft and cool against his heated skin, making him fairly dizzy and extremely aroused. He tried to clutch at Arthur's head and pull him closer, maybe encourage him to move his mouth downwards. So intense was this impulse that he had almost finished tangling his hands in his hair when the frustratingly talented human pulled himself back out of the water. Arthur's face hovered, dripping, above his, though all he could really focus on were two darkening gray eyes.

"Wait," Arthur said.

A pathetic, wanton whine escaped Ford's throat as he writhed impatiently beneath Arthur.

"Arthuuuuur! I need you _now_!!"

Arthur pressed against him, effectively keeping the smaller man from positioning himself to take any action as a second finger crept in to join the first. All Ford could do was strain against him, bucking his hips in search of friction for all he was worth.

"Wait," Arthur repeated, startlingly close to his ear. "I'm doing this. You have to let me…"

"But I need you," Ford gasped and groaned, bucking his hips and trying to get more inside him. "So badly…"

Arthur closed his eyes, relishing the feel of Ford against him. Wanting him, desperately. Probably wanting, out of habit, to be inside of him, but unable to make that happen. It was such a rush that Arthur felt himself start to shake with eagerness.

"Okay," he murmured, "just a second…" He groped with his free hand for the complimentary hotel shampoo sitting further down on the edge of the tub, the closest thing to lube he could think to find.

Ford desperately wanted to be inside Arthur, fucking him until the end of time and not nearly as gently as before. But he knew he'd get something even better. He was going to get Arthur inside of him and he wouldn't trade that for anything.

"Got it," Arthur grunted as his fingers closed around the small bottle. He blinked at the screw-cap (there was a dirty joke in there somewhere, no doubt one Ford would have commented on if their roles were reversed) and swiped at it with his thumb. The cap wouldn't budge. "Ford," he groaned, "I can't open it. What do I do?"

"Here," Ford groaned, taking the bottle from Arthur. He uncapped it easily and handed it back, but not before taking a swig from it. Yes. He drank some of the shampoo.

Arthur blinked, took the bottle back, and sniffed at it. "Is there _alcohol_ in this?"

"Just a bit," Ford panted.

Shaking his head, Arthur popped the end of the bottle into his mouth and held it upside-down until a dollop of the shampoo/cocktail (another dirty joke, which he would have made if he could have) fell onto his palm. He spit the bottle out and it bobbed in the water, drifting off unnoticed to the far side of the tub.

"I don't know if this is going to work," he said, reaching down into the water.

"Mmmm" Ford hummed as he felt the fingers returned to pleasuring him, "Well… Betelgeusians are a bit more… accommodating than human males, as youUU—!" Ford didn't get to finish his smugass statement because Arthur's fingers brushed over a rather sensitive area inside him.

Arthur rubbed the shampoo on himself, pulled his fingers out, and— "Ohgod," he breathed.

"I'll say…" Ford shifted in the water and moaned. "Fuck me hard Arthur…"

And Arthur did, lost in the sensation because he had never done this before and Ford was so warm and so close and so… everything, and in that way at least it was exactly the same. Ford moaned and wriggled underneath Arthur, panting tiny pleas and placing kisses over Arthur's sweat dampened chest. Though, hot and pleasurable as it was, he was vaguely amused at the splashing noises Arthur was making.

He met Ford's lips in another intense kiss and they shuddered together, clashing teeth from the force of the pleasure ripping through them.

"ARTHURWILLYOUMARRYME?" Ford gasped right as his orgasm hit him, shuddering and jerking in the water, splashing wildly.

"Uhhhh," Arthur moaned, registering the question on some level or another but unable at that moment to form real words. Then he took a deep breath, decided he really should come up with some sort of answer – a short, simple answer – and blurted out the first thing he could think of. "Uh, forty-two."

Just as Ford was about to laugh, the Universe froze and collapsed, instantly replaced with something far more inexplicable. Life started over from the very beginning, and nearly at the end of its lifespan, this all happened again… and again… and again.

NO IT NEVER ZARKING ENDS.

...

The End.

* * *

A Note from the Authors:

Oh, and actually, _all_ restaurants (especially Milliway's) are vestigial figments of an deranged imagination. We checked the unedited field research. Twice.


End file.
